From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.com Reviewed by Michael Dirda Sigh. Here's yet another example of a contemporary writer paying homage to, and screwing around with, an earlier masterpiece. Poor Jane Austen, in...
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From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.com Reviewed by Michael Dirda Sigh. Here's yet another example of a contemporary writer paying homage to, and screwing around with, an earlier masterpiece. Poor Jane Austen, in particular, has suffered innumerable such depredations, the latest being the grotesque "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies." In "The Wild Things," Dave Eggers -- who, in a sense, is self-publishing this book, because he founded McSweeney's -- has taken Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are" and turned a timeless picture-book classic into a contemporary problem novel for children 8 to 12. Of course, its marketers hope that grown-ups -- racked with nostalgia or fans of Eggers's popular earlier work -- will read "The Wild Things" as a kind of enriched version of their long-ago bedtime favorite. Yet where Sendak created a poetic blend of words and pictures to depict typical childhood impulses, fears and desires, Eggers has crimped these universals, reducing them to the upswellings of confusion and rage felt by an 8- or 9-year-old after his parents' divorce. Yes, the general outline of Sendak's story is still there: Max misbehaves in his wolf suit, sails to an island inhabited by roly-poly monsters, becomes their king and eventually returns home a wiser child. But everything has been made trendy, diminishing the original's archetypal resonance to syrupy movie cliches. This is especially so in the first third of the novel, set in our world. Once on monster island, the book grows more charming and witty. But it never loses its cynical manipulativeness, starting with a dedication that demands the Heimlich maneuver to preventing gagging: "For Maurice Sendak, an unspeakably brave and beautiful man." Come on now. After the comma, every one of those words is California Speak worthy of "The Simpsons' " Troy McClure. Sendak did catch major flak early in his career -- the nightmarish Wild Things were too scary for little kids; some parents and librarians were indignant that Mickey, the hero of "In the Night Kitchen," was shown naked -- but for the past 30 years or more the man has been a living god. (See, for instance, Gregory Maguire's recent homage, "Making Mischief.") So let's not exaggerate here. In truth, "The Wild Things" has less to do with Sendak's original picture book than with the young adult novels of the 1970s and '80s. Just before the fantasy tsunami hit with J.K. Rowling, YA fiction was dominated by depressing accounts of children coming to terms with every sort of social and psychological trauma then available: a gay parent, drug addiction, teen pregnancy, racism, uncertain sexual orientation, worries about body image, prejudice of every sort. Although such books are obviously useful, they nonetheless readily slide into kiddie socialist realism, contrived stories of bravery and redemption, packed with uplifting morals for the troubled and confused. Give me Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys any day. "The Wild Things" belongs in this gloomy tradition. Young Max lives with his divorced mom, his adolescent sister (who has recently discovered boys) and his mom's three-nights-a-week lover, the dippy, hippiesh Gary. Max's dad lives in an apartment in the city, sometimes forgets to call or visit and has hooked up with the "pretty in a loud way" Pamela. Max's mother cries a lot. Meanwhile, the neighborhood is going to hell. The old houses are being torn down and being replaced by McMansions. When a new kid moves in and proves to be a possible friend for the lonely Max, the boy's mother turns out to be insane about the omnipresence of "Molesters! Drugs! Homeless! Needles!" She actually sends her son to a quilting class. As for the plot: Max rides his bike, builds a fort, starts a snowball fight, takes revenge on his evil sister and goes around worrying about why he's so bad. One presumes that the action takes place sometime in the recent past, since there are exercise tapes and personal computers, but no mention of text-messaging or Game Boys. So much for the first third of the book. Matters do improve
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